


whatever you say, sir

by cinderrain



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Just Add Kittens, Minor Injuries, Washington is probably not the actual president here, it's probably just a nickname, up to interpretation though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9837305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderrain/pseuds/cinderrain
Summary: George Washington is on his way home one Friday evening when he sees a box on the side of the road.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @bethagain for Fandom Trumps Hate! Thank you very much for bidding, I had a lot of fun writing this.

George Washington is on his way home one Friday evening when he sees a box on the side of the road. The box is about the size of a laptop, and it’s looking slightly squashy from yesterday’s rain. He investigates it, because it’s the only interesting thing that he’s encountered on his route thus far, but he immediately regrets it when he carefully lifts up a cardboard flap to see the tiniest puff of calico fur huddled up against a corner inside.

Now, George has seen a lot. He’s weathered career upheavals, tricky administrative work, and a whole host of other huge, life-changing problems. The thing is, though, that he’s made for big things. He can handle leading an army, if the occasion called for it; just not… this.

It’s a kitten. It’s tucked away its little pink nose and all four small paws under its tail, and it’s shivering a little. When he reaches for it, it shies away and flicks one ear sort of disdainfully. He’s always reminded of a certain standoffish employee when he sees cats, and who’s least likely to make a fuss if he asks for advice -

He calls Burr. The phone rings three times before he picks up. “Burr?”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Burr answers, in that stiff way he gets when it’s sort of painfully obvious he wants to make a good impression on a higher-up. “May I be of assistance?”

This may be the most awkward conversation he’s had with someone who works for him. (Hamilton not included, he amends after a moment’s reflection.) “I know it’s after work hours, but I need a favor…”

A few minutes after he hangs up with Burr, a vaguely familiar car slides to a stop next to where George is crouched by the side of the road. Angelica Schuyler, in the driver’s seat, opens her door and leans out. “Mr. President! How are you? Alexander’s being a whiny baby about going on vacation and insisted we stop the car to say hi.”

“Excuse you!” Hamilton yells from the back seat. He bounces out of the car and up to George. “You can’t trust them,” he informs the man seriously, “they’re liars and they lie.”

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Eliza adds from the passenger seat. “You were definitely sulking a minute ago. The cold hard facts don’t lie.”

Hamilton opens his mouth to argue, but Angelica stops him with a stern look. “Don’t you dare try to catch up with work, either, give your poor boss a break.” She turns to George. “What’s in the box?”

Hamilton picks up the kitten before George can answer, and immediately drops it again after a brief bout of hissing and scratching. “Aw, fuck, it bit me. And also scratched me.” He sends Eliza a mournful look. “Tell Peggy I was waylaid by a small furry monster when you meet up with her, will you? Have a nice vacation without me.”

Angelica ignores him. “You found a stray! Are you keeping it, sir? Have you checked it for a microchip or a collar? I don’t want to have to take Alex in for rabies shots because of a feral kitten.”

“I’m not experienced in handling cats, actually,” George tells her, looking at the kitten a little helplessly. It puffs up as big as it can manage and bares its snaggly fangs, one of which is smudged slightly pink with Hamilton’s blood.

“Who’s itty-bitty and might be instrumental in the murder of our favorite workaholic? You are!” Angelica coos to the thing, and crouches down next to George. “I’m not too sure either,” she tells him, “but I think we should get some gloves on at least if we’re not taking the whole box.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s on the verge of falling apart just yet,” George replies. “Keeping the kitten in the box should be fine. That is, if I’m taking it at all -”

Angelica starts to protest, but she’s drowned out by the sounds of Hamilton making an even bigger fuss than usual in the background. They both turn to see Eliza with a tube of Polysporin, wielding it with a grim determination while Hamilton tries to squirm away from her.

“It’ll get infected and puff up, Alex,” Angelica calls from her position on the sidelines. She sighs and turns back to George. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t try to pick it up,” she tells him. “We’ll likely have to stop somewhere and get Alex some tetanus shots at the very least.”

“Sorry about the trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” Angelica assures him. “Maybe he’ll be less of a pain if he’s slowly dying of septic infection.”

Another car pulls up from the opposite direction, driving very slowly. Burr steps out and looks the situation over with a single raised eyebrow. Hamilton stops his theatrics for a moment to groan, “aw, who invited him?”

George decides to stay out of this. He sees enough of it at work, and he’s not feeling up to defusing this situation at the end of the week. He pretends to be busy examining the kitten, and which angle would be best to pick up the box from.

“I wasn’t aware that this was a situation you had any say over,” Burr remarks as he approaches. And then, conversationally, “what the hell happened to you?”

“None of your business,” Hamilton answers, pouting. “Anyway, I’m serious, why are you here? Are you gonna try to help? Because I’d pay to see that.”

“I’m not going to pick it up with my bare hands, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m surprised you lacked the foresight to do it yourself.” Burr comes up from behind Angelica and George, and they shuffle aside to give him room.

“He _is_ the only one here who’s ever owned a cat,” Eliza points out, taking very slow, careful steps toward Hamilton. She’s holding the tube of antibiotic ointment slightly behind her.

George decides to pretend that that’s why he called Burr, rather than just resemblance and a significant aversion to asking Hamilton or any of his overenthusiastic crew instead. “It’s pretty skittish,” he warns Burr.

“I would imagine.” Burr’s voice is soft and distracted as he focuses on the kitten. Two pale green cat-eyes stare back at him, blinking. “And ‘she’ - calicos are almost always female.” He gets a little closer to the box than any of them have, excepting Hamilton’s ill-considered move earlier on, and everyone is quiet as they watch the magical cat-whisperer moment.

And then Hamilton runs up, picks up the kitten again, and (gently, because he’s not a monster) deposits her on Burr’s face. She’s squealing, Eliza and Angelica are taking it in turns to reprimand Hamilton, and the culprit stands off to the side with smug satisfaction.

“Why?” George asks while Burr is left to extract tiny needle claws from his eyebrows by himself.

“I figured,” Hamilton starts, “that if I’m already going to the hospital I might as well - misery loves company? And you can’t fire me, we’re none of us working right now. I’ve been waiting for a chance to throw an angry cat in Burr’s face since I met the bastard, frankly.”

“You’re an asshole,” Burr informs him, setting the cat down in the box and smoothing her ruffled fur.

“Hey, why isn’t she eating your eyeballs out anymore? What the fuck, you really are great with cats.” Hamilton sounds disgruntled and mildly impressed.

“I also bribed her with strawberries.” Burr shows them all the mangled red remains in the palm of his hand. “I was grocery shopping when I heard about the cat, and this was one of the only things that cats can eat.”

“Good thinking,” Angelica tells him. “You do a lot of stray kitten rehabilitation?”

“Not in a while,” Burr answers. He feeds the kitten the rest of the strawberry. “There’s no collar on her, and with cardboard boxes on the side of the road it’s usually pretty deliberate. Will you be keeping her, sir?”

George blinks, startled to be addressed again. “I’m not sure that I’m the best candidate to -”

“You did find her,” Angelica points out. “And there are all those studies on animals and lowering stress. You need that, if you’ll excuse me for saying.”

“I’m not sure that taking in an animal that I don’t know how to care for will be exactly -”

Burr picks up the kitten again and lifts her little face up to eye level with George. She tilts her head at him, more docile now. “I would suggest you take her, too.”

“If we’re talking stress levels, Hamilton -” George sighs and accepts the kitten. She immediately snuggles up into the crook of his elbow and appears to fall asleep. “Oh.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that she hates me,” Hamilton grumbles, and then hisses and winces when Eliza dabs more Polysporin onto his hands.

“Okay, all right, let’s bundle you off to the emergency room.” Eliza shoos him into the car. “Burr, you should get your wounds checked out too.”

The little group disbands, scattering to their respective cars, and leave George by himself to deal with the kitten. She snuffles a little in her sleep, and he’s already planning vet visits and supply runs for the weekend. He’ll need strawberries and a lot of internet research.

This might not end up as badly as he’d thought, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, but my fandom niche is Aaron Burr + grocery shopping, for some reason. I will write fics in this vein until the day I die. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it! Still taking prompts over at cinder229 on Tumblr. 
> 
> Beta-read by the wonderful @vampireloveandfun, who isn't even in this fandom, I'm sorry.


End file.
